


A place to spend the night

by CirrusGrey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: ...kinda?, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Paranoia, Pre-Relationship, Season/Series 02, Soft Ending, Trust Issues, rating is for heavy themes and swears, see end note for spoilery context, suicidal behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27898870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirrusGrey/pseuds/CirrusGrey
Summary: Martin gets home to find Jon waiting on the corner of his street.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 54
Kudos: 369





	A place to spend the night

There was someone lurking on the corner of his street when Martin got home. A shadowy figure, hazy and hard to identify in the late evening light, but they appeared to be watching his building.

Martin glowered, shifting the handles on his grocery bags up to his elbows so he could cross his arms without dropping them. He recognized that silhouette.

The figure was facing away from Martin, standing between him and his flat, so it was a simple enough matter to approach from behind without being seen. Once he was within a few steps, Martin stopped, and cleared his throat.

"Bit cold to be staking out my flat, isn't it?" he asked.

Jon - because who else could it be? - jumped, arms flailing wildly as he spun on the spot, trying to keep his balance and back away at the same time. His cry of surprise turned to a gasped  _ "Martin!"  _ when he saw who it was that had spoken, and he pressed one hand to his heart, shoulders heaving as he fought for breath.  _ "Christ, _ don't sneak up on me like that!"

Martin glowered harder. "I thought you were done spying on people."

"I'm not spying," Jon said, far too quickly.

"Oh yeah?" Martin wanted it to sound annoyed, he really did, but it just came out tired and defeated.  _ He  _ was tired and defeated. They'd all  _ talked  _ to Jon about this at the intervention, he  _ thought  _ they'd come to an understanding, Jon had the footage from the security cameras that should have proven to him that none of them had killed Gertrude, and yet... here Jon was. Watching Martin's flat. "What are you doing here, then?"

"I'm..." Jon began, eyes darting to the side as he searched for an excuse, and Martin sighed.

He should walk away. He should brush past Jon, go home, make himself some dinner, and try to forget about the fact that his boss was standing outside in a too-thin jacket, shivering in the cold December night.

His jacket  _ was  _ too thin, Martin's traitorous brain pointed out, and his traitorous heart squeezed in worry.

"Look, Jon," Martin said, cursing himself with every word. "D'you want to come inside while you try and think of an explanation? It's too cold to be standing around."

Jon gaped at him, mouth opening and shutting silently, and Martin waited for the accusations of trying to get him isolated and alone for some nefarious purpose... but then Jon ducked his head, and nodded. "Thank you," he said quietly, and shoved his hands in his pockets, stepping back to let Martin lead the way.

Martin blinked. Jon actually sounded... grateful.

_ Huh. _ That was weird, and worrying in its own right.

Still, the offer had been made, so Martin hiked his bags higher in his arms and started walking again. Jon followed him without a word.

The silence lasted them all the way into Martin's flat, and to the kitchen where he dumped his bags on the counter with a sigh.

"You can hang your jacket in the hall if you like," he called over his shoulder to Jon. "And leave your shoes by the door."

He dropped his own things there a moment later, and Jon followed his lead, and then they were standing together, in the entranceway to Martin's flat, no more than a few feet apart, and silence fell once more.

Jon was staring at the floor, arms crossed defensively over his chest, so Martin took a moment to just look at him. He looked... bad. His clothes were rumpled, his hair was tangled, he even had a scruffy five o'clock shadow haunting his chin - which Martin knew meant it had been several days since he had last shaved, since robust facial hair had never been Jon's friend. The dark circles under his eyes were starting to look like the overblown makeup of a zombie film instead of something he'd acquired naturally, and he was shaking, ever so slightly, trembling where he stood.

He looked, in fact, like he was about to collapse.

Martin closed his eyes, heart twisting with pity. He  _ hated  _ to see Jon like this, particularly since he knew there was nothing he could do to help. He'd  _ tried  _ \- god, how he'd tried - but Jon was dead-set on going it alone, unwilling to trust even the smallest kind gesture. It was a shock that he was even here, willingly in Martin's flat.

"I'm going to go put away the groceries," Martin said, opening his eyes. His voice came out far softer than he wanted it to. "You can join me in the kitchen if you'd like."

He turned on his heel and walked away. A moment later, Jon followed, socked footsteps muffled on the floor.

Martin put away the groceries quickly and efficiently, doing his best to ignore Jon lingering in the kitchen doorway watching him. When he was done, he transitioned smoothly to making dinner - just canned soup, nothing too fancy, but warm and filling and probably something Jon would eat without accusations of poisoning.

Martin shook his head at that last thought, wishing he didn't have to take that into consideration. But, well, Jon was here now, and Martin was hardly going to refuse to feed him.

He didn't bother to ask if Jon wanted any, just poured out two bowls once it was warm and placed them at his small kitchen table, casting a pointed look at Jon. It took a moment, but Jon did join him, sliding into the seat across from him and hunching over his bowl like he was trying not to be seen.

It was an awkward meal. Jon didn't offer up any insight into why he had been watching Martin's flat, and Martin wasn't inclined to ask. He didn't want to have to defend his own innocence in the murder investigation over dinner.

Once they were finished eating, Martin cleared the table, placed the dirty bowls in the sink to clean later, and stored the leftover soup in his fridge. Then he leaned back against the counter, crossed his arms, and raised his eyebrows at Jon.

"So," he said. "Why were you watching my flat?"

Jon didn't meet his eyes, choosing instead to stare at the floral pattern on Martin's tablecloth. "I was waiting for you."

"Why?"

There was a beat of silence. Then, before Martin had a chance to fully register what was happening, Jon was on his feet. He crossed the room in a few quick strides, opening a drawer and pulling out a large chef's knife without hesitation. Martin barely had time to wonder how he'd known where to find it before Jon was back in front of him, grabbing his hand and wrapping it around the handle of the knife. He lifted the blade to his own chest, the point resting directly over his heart, and dropped his hands.

Martin was left holding a knife to Jon's heart, with no idea how he'd gotten there.

"If you're going to kill me, kill me," Jon said, voice shaking. "Just get it over with."

"W-what?" Martin spluttered, trying to pull his hand back. Jon grabbed him again, holding the knife in place. "I'm not going to  _ kill  _ you, Jon, let go!"

He did, thankfully, and Martin dropped the knife onto the counter behind himself with a clatter. Jon stepped back a pace, wincing at the noise. "What the  _ hell  _ was that?" Martin snapped, heart racing.

"I'm sick of the waiting," Jon said, words quick and fearful. "I'm sick of the not knowing, of the distrust, of the  _ everything, _ I just- I need it to be over."

"I thought it  _ was  _ over," Martin said, stepping away from the counter. Jon looked like he wanted to back away again, but he held his ground. "Elias  _ gave  _ you the security footage, you  _ know  _ none of us killed Gertrude, and we're sure as hell not trying to kill  _ you." _

Jon just shook his head. "One of you could have messed with the footage, it could- it could be a trick, it could-"

Martin did not have the patience for this tonight. "If you've just come here to accuse me of murder again, you can get out of my flat."

Jon  _ flinched, _ and it took every nerve in Martin's body to not rush forward and start trying to comfort him. He knew he needed to keep some distance between him and Jon, especially when Jon got like this, but it  _ hurt, _ turning him away.

"N-no," Jon said. "Th-that's not what- I'm trying-" He passed a hand across his eyes, took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his words were slow, and picked with care. "I...  _ want  _ to believe that you did not kill Gertrude, Martin. I want to believe that you are not trying to kill me, that- that Tim and Sasha aren't, either. But I am... scared."

He looked up, then, and met Martin's eyes for the first time that night. "No matter how many times I tell myself it's safe, I just... I  _ can't  _ trust anyone. Every time I do, I find myself thinking- 'what if this is it? What if  _ this  _ is what kills me?'" He swallowed. "I barely trust my own mind, I'm up ten times a night checking that I locked the door, that no one's broken in, and I can't... I can't do this anymore. I can't  _ live  _ like this anymore."

He stepped around Martin, and grabbed the knife again. Martin tensed, ready to wrestle it away from him if he tried to do something drastic, but Jon just held out the handle toward him.

"So I'm taking a chance. I  _ think  _ I can trust you, and if I can't, I genuinely don't care anymore if I die by your hand. I've had enough, and at least then I'll have my answers." He pushed the knife at Martin. "Kill me if you're going to. And if not, can I crash on your couch tonight?"

The last sentence was so out of the blue that it took Martin a moment to process what Jon had said.

"S-sorry,  _ what?" _

"I'm exhausted," Jon said, voice going ragged at the edges. "I need somewhere I can feel safe to sleep, and I'm not going to get that at my own flat. If you don't kill me now, I can assume you either don't  _ want  _ to, or it's just too inconvenient for you to dispose of a body at the moment. Either way, you probably won't kill me in my sleep." He pushed the handle of the knife at Martin again. "Go on. I won't fight you."

Martin stood still for a moment, staring at Jon with wide eyes. Then he reached out, wrapping his fingers around the handle of the knife, and lifted it out of Jon's hands. True to his word, Jon didn't resist, just tensed slightly and closed his eyes. Martin took a shaky breath, and set the knife down on the counter behind him.

"Come on," he said quietly. "Let's go get you set up on the couch. I promise you, you will live to see another day."

Jon blinked his eyes open, and Martin was startled to see tears gathering on his lashes.

"I can stay?" he asked, voice trembling.

Martin sighed. "Yes. You can stay. Despite my best efforts, I  _ do  _ actually care about you, Jon." It was said half as a joke, and he was gratified when Jon chuckled weakly in response.

"God knows why."

Martin rolled his eyes, moving past Jon toward the door of the room. He did not dignify that comment with a reply.

Jon lingered in the living room while Martin went to his bedroom closet to fetch sheets for the couch, standing awkwardly in the middle of the space with his hands shoved in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. Martin took a moment to himself once he was out of sight, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

It really had been only  _ half  _ a joke. He was  _ trying  _ not to care so much.

But the thing was... he understood what Jon was going through. Maybe not the exact circumstances, maybe  _ understood  _ was the wrong word, but... he had a  _ deep  _ sympathy for Jon's struggle against his paranoia, and he wasn't about to condemn the man just because he was going through a breakdown.

If Jon needed a safe place to spend the night... Martin was more than happy to provide it. Even  _ if  _ Jon was convinced that safety was only temporary.

"I don't have any spare toothbrushes," Martin said, as he reentered the living room, sheets in hand. "But there's toothpaste near the bathroom sink if you want to scrub your teeth with your finger, or something."

"Thank you, Martin," Jon said quietly. "That would be great."

"Just down the hall." He pointed, and Jon followed his finger out of the room.

Martin readied the couch quickly, arranging the sheets and piling blankets on top. He'd never actually had a guest staying the night before, but he had more than enough blankets that he'd gathered over the years for his own use.

When Jon came back into the living room, he was yawning, hand raised to cover his mouth, and Martin's heart did a somersault at the sight. Jon looked...  _ domestic, _ with his tired eyes and disheveled hair, and that was a very dangerous word for Martin to apply to him, because he knew it couldn't last.

He cleared his throat. "Well, the couch is all set. Do you need anything else, or...?"

Jon shook his head. "You've already done more than enough. I just..." he yawned again, sagging onto the couch. "...Need to sleep."

"Right..." Martin wrung his hands together. He didn't really want to leave, yet. It had been so long since the two of them had had a peaceful moment. "Jon?"

"Hm?"

"This is why you were waiting for me, isn't it?" Martin asked quietly. "You weren't spying, you just didn't know how to ask."

Jon nodded, blinking sleepily up at Martin. "Sorry for lurking," he said, listing to the side where he sat and catching himself on one arm. "Didn't know if you were home."

"You could have called," Martin said, but there was no accusation behind the words. It was hard to be annoyed with Jon, when he looked so fragile.

"Didn't know if I was going to follow through until you offered." The words were slurred. He was clearly moments from sleep.

"Why did you?" Martin asked. "Why come to me at all?"

Jon huffed, swinging his legs up onto the couch and pulling a blanket over him. Martin almost thought he hadn't heard the question; but, as he was turning to leave the room to give Jon some privacy, he spoke.

"Feel safe with you," he mumbled, so quietly Martin almost didn't hear it. "Know it's dangerous, just gets my guard down, but... 's comforting."

Jon fell back against the couch cushions, burrowing under the blankets, and within moments he was asleep.

Martin stood in the doorway for a long moment, staring at him. He could hear the slow rise and fall of Jon's breath, deep and even as he slept. His own breath slowed to match it.

Jon felt safe with him.

Martin didn't really know what to do with that information, other than to hold it close to his heart and let it warm him. He doubted Jon would remember saying it by the time he woke up, and Martin certainly wasn't going to pressure him on the matter.

He thought back to the wild way Jon had pushed the knife toward him, the desperation in his voice as he begged Martin to just  _ get it over with. _ He couldn't imagine how difficult it must be, to look at someone you felt safe around and worry that they might be plotting against you. Couldn't imagine how exhausting it had to be, to gamble with your life for every favor asked. To Jon, asking to stay the night had probably felt no more nor less dangerous than handing Martin the knife.

But here he was, anyway. Sleeping soundly, secure in the knowledge that for tonight, at least, he was safe.

Martin flicked the light off, leaving the room as quietly as he could. It was too early for bed, but with Jon in the living room he decided to turn in. He brushed his teeth, changed into pajamas, crawled into bed.

He didn't doubt that this was a one-time occurrence. But if Jon ever  _ did  _ need a place to sleep again...

Martin was here for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Context for the "Suicidal Behavior" tag: Jon puts himself in a situation where he believes his life to be at risk (offering to let Martin kill him right now so that he doesn't have to worry about Martin killing him unexpectedly in the future), because he is exhausted by his paranoia and genuinely willing to die for a good night's sleep.


End file.
